A Couple of Master Assassins: Year One
by Aggie2011
Summary: She shot him when he was trying to save her life...and he'd never let her forget it. Natasha's first anniversary at SHIELD comes with an unexpected change, a good workout, and surprise take out. *Vantage Point Universe*
_Disclaimer: I do not own "The Avengers" or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie or tv show in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

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 _Surprise! Over on tumblr the "Clintasha Week" event kicked off today and today's category was "the beginning/his call" soooo...I went with "the beginning" part of that with this and decided to give you guys year one of NATASHA'S anniversaries at SHIELD! So, as with the Milestone Series, this will be a series of one-shots, posted separately, showing Natasha's anniversaries as she celebrates them with Clint (or Clint forces her to celebrate)._

 _This was beta'd by_ **JRBarton** _and, in her first debut as a beta on my team, the wonderful_ **Arlothia** _! So thanks to both of them :D JRBarton was up way past her bedtime to help me out 3 love you both!_

 _So, with no more delay, have some sweet fluffiness to mask the pain of the latest Untold Stories update._

* * *

 _Trust is hard to come by. That's why my circle is small and tight.  
 **Eminem**_

* * *

 _July 31, 2007 4:57p.m.  
_ _Briefing Room 2  
_ _New York SHIELD Base_

* * *

Natasha stole a glance at Agent Coulson even as she slid into the empty seat next to him. He had a stack of closed files on the table in front of him, his palm resting on it almost protectively. She arched an eyebrow at the label printed neatly on the top file's tab.

 _Strike Team Delta_

"Agent Romanoff," Coulson greeted her with a nod and a tight smile.

She nodded in return, but remained silent. A question about why exactly she was here was on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't give in to the urge. She'd been trained to hold her tongue unless given permission to speak and while SHIELD's training philosophy was _markedly_ less strict – and violent – than the Red Room's had been, she hadn't yet broken from that ingrained habit.

They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Coulson cleared his throat.

"Director Fury should be along shortly," he offered before falling silent again.

She nodded, accepting the comment, and quiet fell across the room once more.

She chewed the inside of her lip and let her eyes stray to that file again.

 _Strike Team Delta_

What did that mean? She knew SHIELD had many 'strike teams'. Usually a specialized unit, used for high profile missions. She thought of the cookie cutter missions she'd been sent on after finishing her training a few months ago: always with a team of at least 4 other agents and always an easy in and out.

They'd been testing her. She knew that for certain.

She wondered if that file Coulson was guarding meant she'd passed that test.

Further thoughts on the matter were stalled when the door opened and Fury strode in, moving immediately to sit opposite her and Coulson.

"Agent Romanoff," he greeted her with a nod, his one eye assessing her expertly even as he got settled in the chair.

"Director," she offered in return and then just waited.

Fury stared her down for one more moment before shifting his gaze to Coulson, who immediately slid the top file across the table to him. Natasha found a file being shifted over to her a moment later.

She looked down at it, eyes going to the label and finding it identical to the one he'd just given Fury.

 _Strike Team Delta_

"Romanoff, as you know, at SHIELD we occasionally team up groups of agents into strike teams, specialized units. These teams are used for highly classified missions, usually of top priority." He waited for her to nod her understanding before going on. "I'm placing you on one such team."

He rested his hand on the file in front of him.

"You, and one other agent, will form Strike Team Delta," he told her. "Together, you and your partner will handle SHIELD's most covert, dangerous, and essential missions. Your status will be classified to the highest level. Only myself, the Council, and Agent Coulson, who will act as your handler, will be made aware of the exact details of your missions."

Natasha was definitely intrigued. This sounded like her exact skill set. But a partner, that was new. She'd been a solo operative since the day of her first mission for the Red Room when she was fourteen.

Fury motioned at the file on the table before her, and she took the cue to flip it open.

"Your new partner is a man I'm sure you're quite familiar with," Fury continued.

Natasha looked down at the first page of the file and saw two pictures staring back at her, both paper clipped in place. One was hers. The other…she blinked in shock.

"Agent Clint Barton," Fury finished. "As I'm sure you're aware, his skill set is very similar to yours."

She was aware all right. Barton had been sent to _kill_ her a year ago and he'd very nearly succeeded; _would_ _have_ if he hadn't made a different choice.

Barton was…an intriguing contradiction.

Since that fateful day in Paris, she'd only really seen him a handful of times. After he'd come back from the ill-fated and nearly deadly Uzbekistan mission that had been his punishment for disobeying orders on her behalf, she'd visited him in the infirmary and he'd tracked her down again once he was recovered. Other than that, they'd become unofficial sparring partners. He was the only one that could really keep up with her one-on-one, but even those sessions were rare. He'd been in and out of the base without pause – save for a month when he'd broken his arm on the parkour course during a rain storm – and they'd sparred whenever he was around.

He was a great sparring partner, always giving her a good workout. He was tough and _fast_ and a dangerously quick learner. He'd already picked up on a few of _her_ moves and woven them into his own personal fighting style. She'd have been annoyed by the artistic theft if it hadn't been so damn impressive.

But he was also _frustrating_. He talked at her, non-stop. Whether she talked back or not, _he talked_. Most of the time, she just ignored him, but sometimes she couldn't help but sarcastically snap something back at him.

The frustrating part of _that_ being that he always looked unreasonably _pleased_ with himself when he got her to react like that.

Partnering with him? That would be…interesting and possible maddening.

Though it seemed she had little say in the matter.

She kept her thoughts carefully hidden behind a neutral expression, eyes on the file as she flipped through it. It was a compilation of her file and his – though _most_ of the information was redacted in his – and a statistical analysis of their skill set compatibility. She wondered absently if _her_ file was redacted in whatever version of this file Barton had been given even as she scanned the compatibility analysis.

She had to admit, as operatives, they would complement each other.

He was a distance operative, she worked more up close and personal.

He was an expert at blending in, she at standing out.

They both spoke several languages.

They both excelled in hand-to-hand combat.

They could both beat a lie detector.

Even so, the concept of learning to work with a partner in the field when she'd spent her whole life operating on her own, seemed…unnerving. And it felt like a waste. Why send them _both_ on a mission when obviously either one of them could handle themselves _alone_ with ease?

"You and Agent Barton will report at 0700 for a briefing on your first assignment," Coulson put in as he, too, perused the file, though she was reasonably certain that he probably had it memorized.

She nodded sharply, accepting this new development no matter how much she doubted its wisdom. She closed the file again and offered it back to Coulson. He waved her off.

"Keep it," he advised.

She nodded again and looked to Fury.

"You're dismissed, Agent Romanoff," the director stated, indicating the way to the door.

She stood, though both men remained seated. Even as she headed out, Coulson was shifting files and sliding another one across the table to his boss. Though her part in the meeting was over, apparently there was more to discuss.

She let the door close on Fury's first words.

"So, this mess in Brazil…."

For a moment she stood in the hallway, still a little shell shocked.

She was being partnered, made into a _real_ active agent. The last year of working to prove herself was finally amounting to something. She glanced down at the file in her hand, reading the label once more.

 _Strike Team Delta_

It had a nice ring to it, she supposed.

With a sigh she glanced at her watch, frowning when she realized the time.

She was late.

She started immediately away from the briefing room, aiming for the gym. And though she knew she needed to get her thoughts in order, focus on the upcoming sparring session, it wasn't an easy task.

For one, her sparring partner was _Barton_.

So trying to clear her mind of the impending partnership – and the implicit requirement of _trust_ that came with it – was pretty much impossible. Because the source of that disquiet was exactly who she was headed to meet.

It wasn't that Barton had given her reason to doubt him. On the contrary, of _everyone_ at SHIELD, he was probably the only one she was certain wouldn't treat her like a ticking time bomb. She knew that, on the basic level, she could trust him. He'd proven that by risking _everything_ to save her life. But there was a difference between trust and _trust_ and even a bigger difference between that and _TRUST._

She shook her head at her own confusing thoughts and pushed through the gym door.

The gym was full, a training class taking place over in one of the sparring areas. She scanned for Barton, finding him at the chin up bars.

She moved towards him even as he pulled himself up, but he didn't stop there. She slowed her approach and could only stare as he pulled up and up and _up._ His chin cleared the bar first, then his grip shifted and his shoulders cleared it. He kept going, his torso clearing next and then he was bending forward, body arching over the bar, even as he continued to support all of his weight on his arms. Then, he started to straighten, uncoiling his body up towards the ceiling until he was positioned in a full handstand, toes pointed with all the precision of a professional gymnast.

Natasha slowed to a stop and stared up at him. She'd seen him do some pretty acrobatic stunts during sparring, but nothing with this measure of…control. It was obviously an exercise he'd done many times if the ease with which he moved was anything to go by.

His eyes were closed, but opened immediately, going to the folder in her hand.

He smirked down at her.

"You're late, _partner_."

She shrugged a shoulder dismissively and gestured with the file as explanation.

"Came as a shock to me, too," he admitted, somehow reading her apprehension even though she was certain her expression was neutral. "I've never worked with a partner before, unless you count Phil…but he's my handler so I don't think that _really_ counts." All this, he said while still holding a perfect, ramrod straight handstand on the bar.

"Ready to spar?" she finally asked, when he didn't seem to be in too great of a hurry to join her on the ground.

"Romanoff, I've been ready for the last 10 minutes," he shot back with a teasing smirk as he easily folded his body back down, bracing his tennis shoes between his hands and crouching on the bar like some sort of monkey.

She arched an eyebrow in an impatient challenge and he chuckled.

Then he was exploding up and back, flipping into a tight ball as he spun away from the bar. He landed in an athletic crouch and gestured towards the nearest open sparring mat.

She blinked in shock. _Where_ had Barton learned to do that? They certainly didn't teach acrobatics here at SHIELD.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Let's get to it," he suddenly teased with mock impatience.

Natasha rolled her eyes and followed him. They both kicked off their shoes and socks. Natasha rested her file on the floor next to them.

Then they squared off.

But instead of launching into battle, they – in near synchronization – started stretching out. It was a practiced routine, one they'd fallen into the first time they'd sparred together.

Once that was done, and her muscles were comfortably warm, Natasha took a moment to knot her hair back into a messy bun. Most of the time she could fight with her hair in her face with no problem, but _Barton_ needed to be kept in her sights at all times. He was too fast to have it any other way.

Barton arched a questioning eyebrow at her.

'Ready?' the expression asked.

She gave him a tight nod and they both dropped into their fighting stances.

Barton's was frustratingly casual, seemingly not even a fighting stance at all. But she knew better. He was ready for her; _more_ than ready most likely. And she also knew, after a year of sparring together, that he wouldn't make the first move.

Defense was his favorite strategy and he used it with brutal effectiveness.

So it was up to her to get the fight going.

And she did.

She launched herself at him, feinting left only to spin right and kick a foot up towards his face. He leaned away, avoiding the kick easily, and slammed his palms against her ankle, trying to throw her off balance. She spun with it, dropping low and sweeping at his feet. He jumped, flipping backwards and giving himself some space.

She pursued. A left jab, spin, elbow towards his ribs. He dodged the jab and blocked the elbow. She twisted around him, hooking a leg behind his. She threw an arm across his chest and tried to pull him back, tried to trip him over her leg and put him on the mat. But he was ready. He mirrored the move, arm going across her chest. His greater weight and strength then had _her_ bending back over _his_ leg instead. She took a fistful of his shirt in one hand and reached for the bicep he had over her chest with the other. Then she levered herself off the ground, twisting her legs up into the air and then down so she was perched on his shoulder. One leg was hooked around the front of his body, the other scissored behind, and then even as she heard him curse, she tightened her legs and threw her weight towards the ground.

He grunted with the impact as the move slammed him hard into the mat, and pushed away from her. He rolled backwards and came to his feet with a feral grin even as she flew at him again. She planted a foot on his thigh and swung a hard cross at his head. He ducked and wrapped his hands around her hips, shoving her back. She flew back a few feet and landed lightly, immediately spinning into an aerial kick. He ducked and then, out of nowhere, advanced.

She'd been waiting for it. He always waited until he saw a clear opening before he made an offensive move. As she completed the rotation of her failed kick, her back was _briefly_ exposed. He took advantage and she clenched her jaw against the pain of the kick to her kidney. She managed to duck the left cross that immediately followed and backpedaled a step to avoid _his_ aerial roundhouse.

She advanced as he landed from the missed kick. She swept low again, forcing him to jump to avoid her leg. Then she pushed her hands onto the mat and levered her legs up, locking them around him as he landed from his jump.

She twisted him hard to the ground and locked him into a submission hold before he could recovery.

He grimaced and struggled for a few moments before tapping his hand against her thigh. She released him immediately and they both rolled to sitting.

"Damn, Romanoff," he inexplicably _laughed_. "Every damn time. But I _did_ last, like, ten seconds longer than last time," he went on, an easy grin on his face.

Natasha stared at him. She should be used to it by now, but she wasn't. He fought like a feral animal, but ever since their first sparring session – when he'd groaned and then _laughed_ in the same breath once they'd finished – he'd ended every session in this fashion. Laughing about being beaten. Laughing about _losing_.

Clint Barton was an odd contradiction.

"So, _partner_ , looks like you're gonna be stuck with me." He grinned at her teasingly as they both levered themselves up and prepared to start again. "You know that means that _eventually_ you're going to have to start talking to me."

Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Using _words_ , even. Actual real _words_. I know, that's probably pretty daunting for you since you mainly communicate through glares."

Natasha arched an unamused eyebrow. He just grinned and went on even as they dropped into their stances.

"I mean, I can do the whole silence thing and communicate through sign language if you want. _But…_ I think that might present a problem when we're having to use comms. Sign language just doesn't really _translate_ over comms, Romanoff…"

Natasha blew out a breath of frustration. _Always talking_.

"I think I'll let my fists do my talking for now, Barton," she shot back.

She could only shake her head in disbelief when his grin shifted into a victorious smirk. She'd done it again, risen to the bait.

Barton was so _frustrating_.

She waited until he nodded that he was ready and then she lunged at him, starting their battle again.

* * *

Natasha rolled her neck to loosen some of the tension there. Barton had gotten _one_ good take down during their two-hour sparring session and she was _still_ feeling it. She glanced at him as he shoved his feet back into his untied shoes, but other than rolling his left shoulder like it was sore, he didn't seem any worse for wear.

He turned to face her and offered her a rueful smirk.

"I'm gonna have to find a _hot_ shower with my name on it if I've got any chance at being able to move _at all_ tomorrow," he commented even as he shifted towards the door. "See you in the a.m., partner."

She nodded vaguely, idly wondering if 'partner' was going to be a permanent form of address between them. She found herself hoping it wasn't. She preferred when he said her name...it was more professional.

She focused sharply on him again when he paused and spoke once more.

"And uh…enjoy your dinner, Romanoff."

She frowned a little, confused. It was an odd thing to say considering they didn't usually issue such well wishes towards each other. But before she could even react he was striding away and disappearing through the door.

Natasha shrugged off her disconcertion at the seemingly random parting comment and headed out of the gym herself. She needed a shower of her own before dinner. Barton had managed, once again, to give her one hell of a workout.

She made her way through the SHIELD halls to her residence hall. She'd been assigned a private room right out of basic training. Apparently, she put people on edge. It was fine by her; she preferred the privacy.

She scanned her hand on the ID pad outside her door and pushed her way inside once it unlocked. She froze just a few steps in, letting the door fall shut behind her.

There was an _intoxicating_ and _delicious_ aroma filling the air around her.

Confused, she scanned the small living space, eyes lighting on a small brown paper bag on her bed, folded over with a note stapled to it.

Both intrigued and very _wary_ , she moved forward, pulling the note free.

As she read it, her posture relaxed.

' _Romanoff, here's to a year down and many more to come. Happy one-year anniversary of the day you shot me for trying to save your life. – Barton'_

A huffing laugh burst from her before she could stop it and she shook her head. How had he even gotten _in_ here?

A year. She checked the date on her watch, now, and realized he was right. It had been exactly a year today. A year since he'd literally _broken_ into her safe house and nearly killed her. Only he hadn't. She'd shot him for his trouble, because honestly at the time it had seemed like the right thing to do. She hadn't realized that he was going to be her saving grace at the time. And apparently he was never going to let her live it down.

Curious now, because she knew at least _Barton_ wouldn't try to poison her, she opened the bag. Take out. Chinese. She loved Chinese food.

If she found herself smiling as she unpacked her dinner, she credited it towards the food. Because there was no way it had anything to do with her new partner, the _very frustrating_ and confusing Clint Barton.

* * *

 _End of A Couple of Master Assassins: Year One_

 _Short, but sweet. This was the VERY early days of them knowing each other and Clint knew enough not to force his company on her. He did his own small gesture without crowding or pressuring her and set a precedent for years to come :)_

 _So? Did you enjoy this little slice of fluffy heaven?_

 _I had fun with it :) Drop me a little line down there if you'd be so kind! ;)_


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